Little Things

My father’s mother was a tiny woman—even before age began to shrink her spine. I called her “Little Grandma” (my birth mother’s mother was “Big Grandma,” and you can bet she loved that).

The other thing to know about Little Grandma is that she loved to garden (Big Grandma liked to drink vodka, so there was that difference, too). But she was busy. A docent for the local historical society, a friend to all stray cats, and a frequent traveler to the ends of the earth, she didn’t have time to kneel for hours in the dirt, pulling weeds.

She tackled the project the only way she could: every time she left her house, she bent down, and pulled a weed.

Sometimes two weeds, or even three. It wasn’t much of a reach from her height of considerably less than five feet, but still . . .

She took umbrage at weeds, even weeds in other people’s yards. We’d be strolling down the sidewalk together, and she’d slow to a stop, bend over, and pluck a dandelion from the lawn of a perfect stranger.

And every time, I’d look away, pretending this diminutive lunacy was wholly unrelated to me.

As so often happens, age brings some wisdom, and eventually I recognized what a brilliant strategy this was. Looking out over my weed-infested flower beds, I am overcome. But if I just pick one, or two, or even three each time I go out, soon the flower beds look . . . well, they look like they’ve been subject to predations by a finicky rabbit (which is my back-up plan for weeding, by the way). The point is, they look better than if I’d done nothing at all, afraid to start because they job is just too big.

Of course, Little Grandma didn’t originate the idea. Anne Lamott talks about a similar approach in Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. (I won’t spoil it for you— #ReadABook.) The psychiatrist in What About Bob? also urges “baby steps.” (Hilarious movie, by the way.) And the old saying Once begun, the task’s half done has been attributed to Aristotle, though I suspect even he was simply anthologizing, as mothers—and grandmothers—have recognized the principle time out of mind.

My favorite writing coach and editor, Charlotte Rains Dixon, talks about the need to simply sit down and write, even if you only get a few words on the page. Stop agonizing over the work, get “butt in chair,” she likes to say, and start writing. https://wordstrumpet.com/ and https://www.charlotterainsdixonauthor.com/

Weeding, mental health, writing. Saving the world. If we can’t do it all, if the thought of how much there is to do is overwhelming and paralyzing, we can do a Little Thing.

I’m no Greta Thunburg. I can’t eliminate the mountain of plastic floating in the ocean and killing the sea life on which our entire planet depends, but I can drive a little out of my way (in an electric car, charged by electricity generated by solar panels – yep, I am aware of what a privileged life I lead) to drop off my plastic bags at the only place that still recycles them, and I can buy an extra can of (organic) chili and drop it off at the local food bank.

I’m no Nupol Kiazolu. I can’t eliminate systemic racism, but I can raise my Black Lives Matter flag, and read Ibram X. Kendi’s How To Be An Antiracist.

I’m no James Obergefell. I can’t convince the world that Love is Love, but I can march in solidarity with my community’s Pride Parade.

In short, though I’m full of good intentions, we all know where those lead. I can’t even keep my flower bed free of dandelions.

But I can pull a weed each time I leave the house.

So here’s my commitment to you, friends: I promise and covenant to do more Little Things to make this life we share just the tiniest fractional bit better.

And it is my hope that, like dandelion seeds in the wind, each Little Thing may give rise to more. (Uh huh, I’m recklessly mixing my metaphors, since throughout this post the theme has been dandelions = weeds = bad. Ah well, another Little Thing I can do: stay consistent in my next post . . . .)

POSTSCRIPT

Apologies - again! - for the long absence from this blog. In the last two months we’ve moved twice (finally settled in one place but are now busily repairing all that needs to be fixed on the new home), received both doses of vaccine, and welcomed visiting family members whose presence had been painfully absent throughout the whole pandemic.

Butterfly image by Ana Martinuzzi @anamartinuzzi; dandelion photos by, in order of appearance, Jan Ledermann @jan_ledermann and Daphne Richard @daphnerhd